Three strikes, p.7
Three Strikes, page 7
Beside him, Lincoln choked. “Oh, fuck.”
Jake sighed as his brother turned, stumbled a few steps, and then puked up his breakfast. His own stayed put, despite the fact that the grass at his feet was stained a dark, sticky crimson, and in the center of it lay Ratchett with half his face and throat missing.
“What the fuck are we going to do?”
Jake glanced at his brother, who was still bent over, hands on his knees. “You’ve got puke on your chin.”
Lincoln swiped at his face with his sleeve, grimacing when he saw the stain. “Fuck. Christ, that stinks.”
Yeah, it did. Jake could smell the acrid sourness from where he stood. “Aren’t you glad you didn’t shower first? There’s a box of neoprene gloves under the sink in the bathroom. Go grab me a couple.”
Lincoln hesitated. “Why?”
“Because I want to do a little light cleaning,” Jake shot back with a scowl. “Just get me the gloves.”
He stomped off. A few seconds later, his brother threw the purple gloves in his face. “Anything else, lord and master?”
“Shut up.” Jake pulled on the gloves as he crouched beside the body. Jake didn’t want to touch Ratchett’s corpse, but he wasn’t going to call the cops before doing his own search. The guy being killed on his property was bad enough, but he wasn’t going to leave anything incriminating on the body—or in the cottage. He reached into the pockets of the man’s jeans and found a wallet, cell phone, and hair elastic. The wallet had a hundred dollars, three old photographs of the same little boy at different ages, and a condom. His driver’s license said his real name was Ryan. The phone wasn’t password protected and had a short contacts list. There were a few texts—a few of which were from Lincoln, giving him the address of the resort.
Stupid shit.
“Want to tell me why you were the last number he called?” he called out.
Lincoln appeared in the doorway, wearing a matching pair of gloves. “He called me last night before he showed up at Gracie’s. I didn’t answer.”
“Did he leave a voice mail?”
“Yeah.”
“Saying what?”
His brother looked annoyed. “I don’t know. Something about wanting to talk.”
“Did he mention me?”
Lincoln shook his head. “No. He didn’t like to say much over the phone—or text.”
Jake turned his attention back to the dead man. “Small fucking favors.” He set the phone down and went through the rest of his clothing. Nothing. When he stood, Lincoln was gone. He walked back to the cottage to find his brother sitting at the table drinking a beer.
“Where’d you get that?” he demanded, shoving the soiled gloves into his pocket.
“From the fridge.”
“Jesus Christ.” Jake glared at him. “Are you stupid? You want the cops to know you were here long enough to have a damn drink?”
Lincoln’s eyes widened. “Cops?”
“Yeah. A guy is dead. I have to call the cops.”
“I thought we were going to get rid of him.”
Jake froze, an unwelcome thought easing into his mind. “You killed him.”
His brother choked on a drink, but he didn’t spit out the beer in his mouth. No, Lincoln wouldn’t waste booze. He managed to swallow, then took another drink to set himself to rights. “I did not!”
He wasn’t convinced, but it didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to dispose of a body he hadn’t killed himself, and if Lincoln didn’t own up to it, Jake wasn’t going to try to protect him. He pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Did you check his bags?”
Lincoln nodded. “Truck keys and a pack of gum. Change of clothes.”
“Good.” He scrolled through his contacts. “He’s an old friend of yours. That’s what you’re going to tell the cops.”
“I’m not talking to the cops!”
His brother looked panicked and Jake didn’t have time for it. “Linc, you’re in his fucking phone, and your prints and DNA are going to be on that beer bottle. Better to admit to knowing him and play the shocked friend than try to play ignorant. You’re not that good an actor.”
Hazel eyes narrowed. “And you are?”
Jake hit Send and waited. “Hey. You better come to the resort. Cottage number twelve. And Neve? Leave the siren off.”
Nineteen years ago
“You kinda look like her.”
Maggie Jones looked up from the photo in the magazine and smiled at Mike LeBlanc, who sat next to her. She liked Mike. He was the only guy who didn’t look at her like he expected a fuck or a blow job from her. He and Greg Andrews were two of the few decent guys who hung out back the Ridge. The grown men were the worst—just like her father. Well, except for Rusty. He was nice, but usually so drunk he wasn’t any help. She wished he’d bring Audrey with him, but the one time one of his buddies suggested it, Rusty punched him in the mouth. Bertie was okay, but he was more interested in being buddies than a protector. She didn’t trust that.
She escaped as often as she could. Most times she managed to sneak off with Barbie and her friends. Barbie was older and way prettier than Maggie ever hoped of being. Barbie was a guy magnet, but the guys wanted to impress her. No one ever really wanted to impress Maggie. Their big mistake, though, was treating her like she was stupid.
Maggie was not stupid. And she wasn’t a gullible little twit who could be manipulated into having sex. At least with guys closer to her own age she could decide if she wanted their dicks in her mouth or not. God, they were so easy. Sometimes they even paid her for it. She’d hide the money away so her father wouldn’t know about it. He’d beat her senseless if he knew she was holding out on him. Still, she’d rather be back the Ridge with him than at home with him. At least back the Ridge he had distractions. At home he’d get that look in his eye and she knew what was going to happen next.
“You think so?” She liked Courtney Love—she was such a fucking mess. But a cool mess.
“Yeah. If you bleached your hair like hers and wore makeup, you’d really look like her. Only prettier.”
She narrowed her gaze. “You don’t have to suck up to me. If you want me to go down on you, just ask.”
Mike’s mouth dropped open. “I’m not, and I don’t! God. What are you, fourteen?”
She nodded, not bothering to correct him. She’d learned that summer that if guys thought you were older they were easier to manipulate. “That didn’t stop your friend.”
He made a face. “Aaron’s not my friend. I told him to leave you alone.”
She shrugged. “He’s okay.”
“He’s too old for you. He knows better.”
“What he knows is that I’m available,” she retorted. “When I’ve decided I’m done, he’ll know that too. Don’t treat me like a little girl that needs protecting.” Yeah, she hated being treated that way, but secretly, she liked it. Other than Audrey, no one ever tried to protect her, or stand up for her. She appreciated Mike at least speaking up.
Mike looked like he didn’t believe her. “Okay, but if you want him to leave you alone and he won’t, you tell me.”
Maggie agreed. She turned the page in the magazine. There was a photo of Chris Cornell from Soundgarden. “He’s so pretty,” she commented.
“He’s fucking hot,” Mike amended.
She jerked back, looking up at him like he’d just announced he was the Easter Bunny. “You like boys.”
Mike’s cheeks flushed. He was so cute, like a bunny or a puppy. Sweet. “Yeah. Our secret, okay?”
“Okay.” If there was one thing she was good at, it was keeping a secret. And then she told him one of her own: “I like boys and girls.”
He gave her a strange look. “Really?”
She nodded. He smiled, and she smiled back. They were still smiling at each other when the door to the little shed opened and in walked Barbie, Dwayne, Lincoln, Greg, and Glen, all of them following Barbie like dogs in heat. Barbie was smart keeping them to herself. She always had her pick. Maggie didn’t mind getting the castoffs.
“Speaking of pretty …” Mike’s gaze latched on to Lincoln before it met Maggie’s. She giggled. Nobody thought Lincoln Tripp was prettier than Linc himself.
“What are you laughing at?” Linc demanded, glaring at her. He never seemed to like her much. It was like he was afraid of her or something.
“Nothing,” she remarked, smiling in a way she knew would make him squirm. “Nothing at all.”
“I’m going to get a beer,” Mike announced and rose from the couch, leaving Maggie there alone. She stared at Lincoln until he looked away, and then, with a little smile, she went back to looking at her magazine.
Boys.
CHAPTER SIX
Jake’s truck was parked at the main building when Audrey and Mackenzie arrived back at the resort. Audrey wondered if he had talked to Ratchett and what the outcome of that conversation had been. She couldn’t imagine the man would just shrug and go on his way, but she also knew Jake—and he wasn’t going to just give the guy what he wanted. She had to hope that Ratchett was bluffing. And if he wasn’t bluffing, she had to trust Jake’s ability to get himself out of just about any situation.
Audrey set the two DNA tests she’d grabbed at Walgreens on the small dining room table. There was a layer of dust on top of the boxes but the expiration date was still good. The clerk at the checkout had raised an eyebrow at her when she set them on the counter with her other purchases. Audrey just smiled and said, “Don’t you just hate not knowing?”
“Do you really think we’ll need more than one?” Mackenzie asked as she put a gallon of milk in the fridge.
She considered lying to the girl, but there was no point. “Yes.” In fact, they would be fortunate if they only needed the two.
Mackenzie winced. “I guess it would be asking too much for him just to step up and claim me. I thought maybe, you know?”
Yeah, Audrey knew. She’d seen a lot of bad parents in her years of studying juvenile offenders. “He might not even know about you,” Audrey offered, feeling oddly generous. “Maggie never told anyone—that I know of—that she was pregnant.” She left out that Maggie might have truly believed Clint was Mac’s father. “Let’s go on that assumption and take it from there.”
“Do you think badness is inherited?” the girl asked after a moment’s silence. She stood in the middle of the floor, holding a container of yogurt, her expression contemplative and a little fearful.
“Sometimes, but if you are worried about it, it’s probably not an issue.” The girl gave no indication of having any kind of mental or emotional issues, and while Audrey’s instincts weren’t always what they ought to be, she had no reason to doubt them in this case. “No matter who your birth parents are.” That said, if she were in Mackenzie’s shoes she would have gone back to her adopted parents already and said a big fuck-you to Edgeport.
The younger woman nodded. “Thanks.” She put the yogurt in the fridge. “Did you hurt your arm?”
She hadn’t even realized she’d been massaging it. “I got shot a few weeks ago.”
“Shot?” Blue eyes went wide in horror. “By that Scott girl?”
Of course she would have heard about it—it had been all over the news. “Yeah. It wasn’t all that serious. It’s mostly healed, it just aches a little.”
There was that almost coy, Maggie smile. “I wouldn’t have thought psychology would be a dangerous career choice.”
Audrey set some apples and oranges in a bowl on the counter. She’d convinced the girl to buy some vegetables and fruit before leaving the store, which made her feel older than she wanted to contemplate. “It’s not the job. It’s me. I have a knack for attracting trouble.”
Mackenzie turned to her. “Maybe you have a knack for fixing it.”
She laughed. “The perfect clinical response, Dr. Bell. Well done.”
That perfectly clear complexion turned pink. “I wasn’t being condescending.”
“I didn’t think you were.” Audrey went to the storage bins in the living area and picked one up. She carried it back to the table. “Let’s go through some more of this stuff. We can’t just run around town taking DNA samples of every man Maggie might have … known.” It was the kindest way to put it, unfortunately.
Mackenzie put the last of the groceries away and then joined her at the table. Deep in the bin, beneath some old CDs and on top of a high school yearbook, was an envelope filled with old photographs. Audrey smiled at the one on top as she pulled them out of the paper. It was a photo of the two of them taken the Christmas before killing Clint. They stood in front of the tree in Audrey’s living room, arms around each other, grinning like idiots. They looked like children—even Maggie, who had so much forced upon her. After Clint, neither of them would ever be that innocent again.
“Is that you?” Mackenzie asked.
“Yeah. Christmas Day.” She couldn’t help but smile, thinking about that day. Thinking about her first best friend. Then her smile faded. “The last Christmas we spent together.”
Mackenzie glanced at her, and Audrey could only imagine what she saw. “She named me after you. I saw it when I got a copy of my birth certificate.”
“I know.”
“You must have really meant a lot to her.”
Audrey’s throat tightened. She swallowed. “I did. Once. She was my best friend.” She tore her attention away from the photo and turned to the younger woman, whose face was so terribly familiar. “That’s why I want to help you.” Because she needed to find him. Maggie had suffered so much, so young. And she’d done it in silence. Yes, the fact that Mags hadn’t told her drove her nuts, but it hurt too. Maggie was why she’d become a psychologist. What she had done for Maggie had sent her down that path. She needed to give Maggie a little justice if she could—and not just the vigilante kind.
The girl smiled. “Tell me what you liked most about her.”
She didn’t have to think about it. “Maggie was fun. She always wanted to go on adventures—that’s what she’d call them. We’d explore the woods, the beach, people’s property. She just wanted to see everything. She saw the world as something to be discovered.”
“What did she want to do with her life?”
“Other than be a rock star?” Audrey grinned. “Later, she wanted to get into makeup. She owned a salon here in town.” Of course, Gideon had since sold it to some of the girls who worked there.
“I like doing hair and makeup. I guess I get it from her. My mom—my adopted one—is pretty granola. She wears Chapstick and that’s it.”
“Maggie knew everything there was to know about the different brands.” She didn’t mention that Maggie stole the local drugstore practically blind. “She always had new eye shadow to try. She used to make me up all the time. Mum hated it.”
“Because she did a bad job?”
“Too good of one,” Audrey corrected with a rueful smile. “No mother wants her twelve-year-old looking like she’s a high school student.” It had been the tricks Maggie taught her that made it possible for her to get into bars long before her twenty-first birthday.
“No, I guess not. My mother didn’t like me trying to look older either. She’s always telling me not to rush growing up—that someday I’ll wish I could turn back time.”
Audrey grinned. “Some of us are still waiting to grow up.” She’d be the first to admit that the growth of her inner child was horribly stunted.
Wide eyes sparkled. “So, it doesn’t matter if I try to rush it or not?”
“Not really, no. I’ve tried to adopt the philosophy of just enjoying being an ever-evolving work in progress.”
“That sounds nice.”
“It is. In theory.”
Mackenzie laughed. “Who are these people?” She offered Audrey another photo.
It was curled at the edges, with little holes that indicated it had been pinned to a wall at one time. It was of Maggie, Barbie Stokes, Dwayne Dyer, Duger Ray, her brother-in-law, Greg, and another kid who looked familiar. Aaron Patrick, maybe? He wore a huge grin on his face and had his arm around Maggie’s shoulders. He wasn’t a bad-looking kid, bit smarmy though, but then what teenage boy wasn’t?
“Do you know them?” Mackenzie asked.
“Yeah. Barbie and Dwayne are still around. Duger—Scott—is in Eastrock. Barbie would be our best place to start.” Audrey had known her better than she’d known the guys. Plus, being female she might be more inclined to give extra details rather than just answer questions, since there was no chance of her being the girl’s father. One thing Audrey wanted to ask was who had taken the photo, because Maggie wasn’t looking at the camera, she was looking at the person behind it, and her smile was a wide and beautiful thing.
Who had put that smile on her face? Who had given that kind of joy to her terrible life? And why hadn’t she told Audrey about him? Why wasn’t there any mention of this person in the journal Maggie had kept after Clint’s death? She needed to go through it again. Maybe she missed something when she read it the first time.
Or maybe Maggie had wanted to keep this person to herself—her special secret. What made him so important?
And why, she wondered, hadn’t Maggie asked him to kill Clint?
“A coyote or something has been at him,” Neve observed as she squatted near Ratchett’s corpse. “Looks like he was shot in the throat.”
Jake stood a few feet away. “Lucky shot.”
Neve’s dark eyes bore into him. “Or a good one.”
Jake arched a brow. In his chest, his heart kicked it up a notch, but he kept his features relaxed. “You think it was intentional?”
She shrugged. “Could have been an accident.”
A fucking lucky one—for him. It had to have been an accident, though. Who else other than himself would want to see Ratchett gone? Unless someone had followed the bastard to town. He’d suspect Kenny, but his cousin would have come to him first. Kenny would blame him, and expect him to fix it. And Lincoln … well, Lincoln could have made that shot. But Jake didn’t think he’d faked his reaction to seeing the man’s body.
